The Lady and the Carpenter
by Elin B
Summary: In which Paulie meets someone new - to him, not to the readers - and falls head over heels in love. One-shot, quite short. Set in the future. No spoilers beyond Water 7 arc.


BRIEF FOREWORD:

This fic was written in reply to a request on an anoynymous request thread, asking for "Paulie het". This is what came into my head from that.

The story is set a couple of years in the future. It contains very vague spoilers for the Water 7 arc but not anything beyond that. Also contains vague references to yaoi pairings. I'd say this is worksafe, though. In fact, warning for tameness (and possible bittersweetness) might be in order! It's also quite short.

Beta'd by the most awesome Tonko, for which she is much to be thanked. I am to blame for whatever errors you may find, or any other problem readers may have with the set-up and execution of the fic. Speaking of which, constructive criticism are much appreciated. Feel free to nitpick! ;)

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of One Piece was created by Eiichiro Oda and is owned by him and Shueisha Entertainment. Some of them are used here without permission. This fic is written for entertainment purposes only and may not be used for profit.

The Lady and the Carpenter

A One Piece fanfic by Elin B

When he first sees her she doesn't strike him as anything particular: there's no outrageous mode of dress to make him angry and blush, and he doesn't gawk and stare at her looks, either. There are pretty girls enough in Water 7. _Nice-looking girl_, is pretty much what he thinks, if even that. He simply notes her as one among several in the small batch of people –mostly young, wide-eyed and enthusiastic – now disembarking from the new ship in the harbour.

He's heard about that ship already: it's come a long way and will need a long and thorough overhaul, but it's large and well-built despite several rather flashy features. Apparently some rich eccentric guy from one of the Blues has built it, has hired a crew of mostly rookies, yet has managed to get all the way here. That's pretty respectable in Paulie's eyes. He's also heard the guy was some kind of big-time merchant where he lived, but now he's suddenly decided to pour all his savings into this ship and to follow his old dream of finding some legendary goldfish species that's supposed to have extraordinary healing properties and be excellent eating to boot. There seem to be a lot of things like that going around these days, from what Paulie has seen. In any case, this crazy old rich guy is willing to pay through the nose to get good ship repair and all the supplies and advice that money can buy.

Iceburg certainly doesn't want to lose a client like that if he can help it, so he more or less tells Paulie – nicely enough – to help take care of the more distinguished people in the crew. Try to shield them from the harder edges of Water 7, as it were. When Iceburg hears that one gray-haired, respected member of the crew is a hopeless gambling case who tends to get into trouble a lot because of it, he assigns Paulie to that one. If he can't keep the honoured guest out of gambling places altogether, at least Paulie might keep him from ending up in the worst ones.

Paulie blinks and swallows a little as he realises that the boss trusts Paulie not to get heavier into debt himself these days. That feels odd. Good, but more than a bit… daunting. Then he just grunts and says he'll try his best but can't promise anything. It turns out the old gambler is accompanied by his young blonde assistant while roaming the town, and soon enough this new chore seems a lot more pleasant.

But on the third day, through no fault of Paulie's the old guy ends up falling into a canal and afterwards quickly acquires a nasty cold on the third day that lays him up in his hotel. Thus end Paulie's duties on that front. By this time, however, he's gotten to talk with that blonde assistant quite a bit, and it feels easy to stop in the street for s short chat with her, maybe help her carry her shopping. Or he might see her walking by at the worksite he happens to be at that day – sometimes she's with her friends, sometimes by herself – and then he might decide that now's as good a time as any for a coffee break.

"I've never thought of myself as an adventurer," she tells him one day, as they are sipping tea together under the awnings of a scruffy café while the rain pours down on the cheap roof. "I didn't think I'd ever venture this far, not without – I mean, I didn't think I would, that's all." Paulie nods and doesn't press her about the slip she's made. "But," she continues, "when I had this offer to come and work with my old mentor on this ship, I just felt I had to seize the chance. Even if it was scary. Because I might never again get such a chance to see the world, after all. And my only argument against it was really only that it was frightening, and that wasn't nearly good enough. I won't let fear rule my life; I decided that long ago."

She has nice long legs that she keeps modestly covered, the most beautiful smooth skin – making a face, she claims that she used to be far too pale, but months of sea-living has rendered her nicely tanned, and he doesn't mind at all – she has slender wrists and teasing ankles that make his head swim, but she never flaunts her no-doubt beautiful flesh, never advertises herself in that shameless way that always makes Paulie upset and flustered and embarrassed. Her eyes are always open and honest; often laughing and nearly always bright. Strangely enough, she always seems ready to listen to him, and to try her best to understand.

She hasn't fallen into open adoration of the Galley-La workers, as so many do (and while he'd hate for her to act like a silly starstruck girl, in a way he finds her restraint in this area slightly disconcerting). But she seems honestly curious about shipbuilding and puts clever questions to him about his work. Better, she obviously respects craftsmanship a lot. And then she'll tell him about something she's seen on one of the islands going here, and he'll reply with an anecdote or two of his own, and before long they're sharing a laugh together. He gets the feeling that she's less used to telling stories than to listen – she keeps stopping, correcting herself, apologising needlessly for mixing things up or saying unimportant stuff – but Paulie could listen to her all day. She sounds adorable when she laughs herself silly (and he's already quite forgotten that, weeks ago, he claimed that a loud laughter like that was an unattractive trait in a woman).

But there are times every now and then, often when he tells a funny story and they both start laughing, when she will turn quiet for a few moments. She will pull a strand of her blonde hair away from her face and look out to sea or out into the streets with a distant gaze, her smile turning melancholy and sometimes even bleak. And then he'll look away for awhile, feeling like an intruder.

It's already been two weeks when he wakes up and realises she's everything he's ever looked for in a woman. And she is also things he hasn't known before that he wants – like being strong-minded and opinionated, or enjoying silly practical jokes, or being open and friendly with all kinds of people, or having a deep and abiding devotion for her _own_ work as well, not just his – but now he can't imagine falling for someone lacking those traits.

And because she _is _a woman, that means some things are easier than they might be otherwise. But other things are harder. In a way, it seems even more serious, considering the possible consequences. He also suspects that his feelings may well be more obvious to others. They might be vulnerable to gossip, to the pressure of people around them to jostle and prod and force their hand. That's a worry. He really does not want to become a source of trouble to her, even as he lies awake and ponders ways to make her stay her in his town for just a little longer.

The people Paulie loves, for the most part, tend to love other people or other things even more than they have affection for him. And maybe that's why, when he sees Kaya look out to sea in those moments, when he wonders what kind of person he might be, the bastard or at least the damned fool who could leave a treasure like that behind, and who she won't admit to following all the way out here – maybe that's why he knows, then, that's it's the real thing all right. That familiar pinch in his chest can't really mean anything else.

But still, he tries to stay close to her without going too far; he tries to make up excuses to prolong the ship's repair without becoming unprofessional and make the company look bad, or tries to hint about medical practices in Water 7 that wouldn't mind some new blood coming in. And if he comes across as wheedling and desperate, for the most part she doesn't reject his stupid excuses and hints right away. Maybe she has become a bit tired, maybe she's not certain she wants to go on. He can only hope.

Late one evening after work he tries to talk to her more openly, yet without being so direct as to be harsh and tactless. He's standing looking out over the water with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, she's sitting on a barrel right next to him; and he does his best to indicate that it's really all right, that he likes people with big hearts. That it's infinitely better than to be someone with no discernible heart at all, who only takes pleasure in shedding blood and in treachery.

Then he feels clumsy and obvious and stupid, and starts to blush terribly and look at his feet. And she doesn't say anything for quite awhile except for a soft, quiet "Hm"- far too quiet for him to even try and guess what it might signal. Eventually she stirs and asks, a little timidly, if he'd like a bite to eat somewhere.

She's pretty quiet as she walks beside him into town, and he doesn't talk much either. Eventually, tend end up sharing a meal and then a cup of coffee in a sidewalk restaurant on Shipyard Island, where the moon is reflected in the narrow canal beside them. And his fingers slowly inch closer to her as if moving of their own accord, and she doesn't move her hand.

She turns her head towards the moonlit water. When she next looks at him her eyes are almost unbearably clear and bright – though she isn't smiling, and it's not a look of pity either. He isn't sure what it is, but he knows damn well that gaze is not in any way close to the way he's looking at her, right now.

Still he dares to put his trembling hand on top of her hand and she does not pull it away. She might do so soon enough, might back away, shake the dust from her eyes and realise he has nothing to offer. Any minute now, she probably will.

But she hasn't done so yet.


End file.
